Apotheosis
by Karri
Summary: Two ficlets featuring Boromir, written for International Fanworks Day.
1. The Smithy

Title: The Smithy

Rating: G

Summary: Boromir indulges in his passion. Written for International Fanworks Day

_My thanks to Lindahoyland for her beta efforts. _

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Boromir stopped outside and slid down to sit beneath the window. He wasn't hiding - the blacksmith knew he was there; somehow he always did, regardless of whether Boromir stayed outside beneath the window or eventually entered the forge – but sometimes he just liked to listen for a while first; it brought a peace to his soul that was often hard to find elsewhere in these days since mother had… Boromir closed his eyes, banishing her from his thoughts and focusing instead on the music.

The sound was beautiful; he could imagine nothing else in the world that could sing so sweetly. He had not seen battle yet, of course, but Boromir could envision it when he heard the rhythmic clanging of metal on metal as a new sword was born.

He would be a great swordsman someday, he was certain of it; tales of his deeds would be told throughout the land – tales that rivaled those of even the greatest heroes old. That was his destiny. But… Sometimes, sitting here, he let himself dream of a different future…less glorious, perhaps, but no less important – for what was a swordsman without a sword.

A blacksmith's life! That was the life he would live if he could, he thought. What could be better than taking a cold lump of iron and shaping into something with equal parts beautiful craftsmanship and deadly function?

A slow smile spread across his face as Boromir slipped inside the door. No longer content with listening, he wanted to see the spark of the hammerscale as the weapon took shape. It was magical – that process.

Boromir wondered, sometimes, if there were anything a smith could not create.

Aulë, the Great Smith, had forged the very mountains and seas of the world, and even the vessels that carried the light of the sun and the moon. Aulë was a Vala, though; Boromir was but a Man. Yet… The blacksmith before him was but a Man, also, and still this lump of metal he now hammered would soon be transformed into something so far beyond what it had been that there must surely be some magic possessed by all smiths. They surely could not be just Men like any other Men, Boromir decided. Perhaps that was why he was destined to be a swordsman, instead. Perhaps he was just a Man…

Boromir wilted a little with the thought, but then squared his shoulders. _It may be that I am just a Man, _he determined, _but I shall be a great Man – one worthy of a sword wrought even by the like of _Aulë_, himself. _


	2. Apotheosis

Title: Apotheosis

Rating: G

Summary: Boromir encounters a fan. Written for International Fanworks Day

_My thanks to Lindahoyland for her beta efforts. _

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At first, Boromir just heard muffled giggling and thought nothing of it. He was near the edge of the market, after all; a cacophony of noise, originating from both Men and animals rose and fell from every direction. Soon, though, he became aware of flashes of hair and eyes, sleeves and skirts following him as he moved. Their owners stayed _mostly _out of sight, but their giggling and giddy conversation remained within hearing.

"Oh! I have seen him from a distance before, but that view does him such a disservice; his shoulders are so much broader up close."

Boromir nearly rolled his eyes when he heard a starry-eyed sigh precede the words, "He is such much fairer than I imagined, and those eyes…" Another sigh followed, nearly provoking him to do the same.

"And his hair…such an elegant crown for his noble face. What I wouldn't give for a chance to run my fingers through those dark locks."

A smile crept onto Boromir's features as he imagined granting the girl her wish, but he quickly dismissed the thought. Who knew where that sort of thing might lead, and he wasn't looking for a wife – or a clingy woman intent on convincing him otherwise.

"I wish we could see him fight…" followed by another sigh.

A giggle, and then, "I don't know… The rippling of his muscles beneath that fine shirt might just stop my heart."

More giggling, and Boromir abruptly reached his limit. He was just about to turn and chase the foolish girls away, when one gasped suddenly, and then they both fell silent. One heartbeat, then two, passed, before a timid hand tugged upon his sleeve.

"Your pardon, my lord Boromir," came a shy, hesitant voice.

"Yes," Boromir acknowledged, irritably, as he turned to greet the blushing face of the young woman who belonged to the voice. Her eyes showed such deep admiration that he felt ashamed for a moment that he had considered chasing her and her companion away. Softening his tone, he asked, "How may I be of service to you?"

"Ummm," she stammered, nervously shuffling her feet. The action made him impatient, but he hoped it didn't show on his expression; the girl was anxious enough already. "You dropped these, sir."

He dropped his gaze to a shaky hand, which now held out to him his gloves. They were so worn they were hardly worth retrieving; in fact, he'd come to the market to purchase another pair. He could see, though, that to this starry-eyed girl, they were worth double their weight in gold.

"Keep them," he offered, "as a reward for your honesty."

The child blanched and stammered, "Nay, my lord, I could not possibly. You need them! My honesty is little compared to all you do…" Tears welled in her eyes, and she began to shake. "Your strength… You courage… Where would we be without it? You are our safety!" she insisted. "How could I go on, having deprived you of something you need so dearly on cold nights or whilst fighting Gondor's many foes?"

Somewhat unnerved by the vehemence of the girl's reaction, Boromir took hold of her hand, guiding her to a nearby bench and gently pressing her to sit. Then he knelt before her and assured, "Peace, child. They are old and of no use to me any longer. You would deprive me of nothing."

Sniffing softly, the girl gazed up hopefully, "Truly?"

"Truly," he insisted, before rising and stepping a full arm's length away, in hopes of allaying any romantic rumors that the embrace might spawn.

"Thank you, my lord," responded the girl, clutching the gloves to her breast as though they were the most precious of gifts. "I shall cherish them always," she added, somewhat giddily.

Her expression was so starry-eyed that Boromir nearly regretted his deed, but then he looked deeper and saw something more. Her eyes veritable shown with pride (of him), and faith (in him), and trust.

_She deserves the gift, and more even, _he considered. _She deserves to have me be the man she sees when she looks at me, and I shall be! Gondor shall never want for a hero whilst I live!_

With a slight bow, he turned and continued on his way, determined never to forget the people he served.

The end.


End file.
